


Duet

by Barrhorn



Series: Meme Reposts [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Fade to Black, Flirting, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 12:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7439587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barrhorn/pseuds/Barrhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The times when Angela watches Fareeha undress, and the times Angela has to do it herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duet

1.  
She walked out of the base when she heard the engines. Angela knew that they were getting a new recruit in today, but nothing else. So when she spotted a cluster of people right outside the door looking up, she gladly stepped in next to them.

A blue and gold figure instantly grabbed her attention as it soared overhead, zig zagging precise lines, easing gracefully through wide turns. They flew upwards, seeming to hang in the air for a moment before diving straight for the ground, falcon helm unerring even as a gasp was torn from the crowd - only to pull up at the last second, throwing up a cloud of dust in their wake.  
"Bloody hell, she's good," Angela heard Lena murmur appreciatively next to her. She nodded. Even without the pilot's expertise, the show was certainly impressive!  
After a few more displays, the recruit landed, putting her hands to each side of the helmet and pulling it off. Angela felt her breath catch in her throat; the resemblance was unmistakeable.

Ana Amari's daughter had answered the call.

\---

Reinhardt's laughter boomed across the street. "Well done, my friends!" he called, and Mercy, standing right next to him, winced a little at his volume. It was never any use reminding him that the communicators existed when he was in this good a mood.

"I'll scout around for the rest of the bad guys." That was Tracer's voice in her ear. "Be back in no time!"

Mercy scanned the empty street, then tapped the side of her halo. "Overlay on," she commanded softly. Indicators appeared in her vision, icons labeling her teammates and monitoring their vitals. Reinhardt next to her, freshly healed and ready for more. Tracer zipping through the streets, Torbjörn setting up a turret around a blind corner. And above her, Hanzo silently waiting on a ledge and Pharah roaming the rooftops. All of them shone steadily in her sight.

Her respite, as ever, could only be short lived. "We've got company," Tracer called, the comms also transmitting the steady burst of her pistols. Her icon jumped around, as hard to follow as always, but never faltered. "Look out, they've got-"

A bang sounded from somewhere ahead of them, and Tracer's voice dissolved into a coughing fit. Canisters landed around the group, and Reinhardt instantly put up his shield.

But it couldn't stop the canisters from popping open, and couldn't block the thick white smoke that enveloped them. It burned Mercy's eyes and throat, but she poured light into Reinhardt as his shield flickered and failed, trying to ease his breathing as he bent over at the waist, leaning heavily on his hammer.  
She could hear engines burst into life as Pharah flew over the cloud and longed to jump to her for her own sake, but she could not forsake Reinhardt.

"Pharah, watch the-"

Hanzo's warning came too late. The explosion burst overhead, ripping through Mercy's chest. Even through her watering eyes she could see Pharah's icon turn red, blaring an alarm as she plummeted to earth.  
"Pharah's down!" she reported, throat tight with smoke and fear. Reinhardt's hand fell roughly on her shoulder and gave her a light shove.  
"Go! I will be fine!"

Without hesitation, she stumbled into a run, following the guidance of the icon through the smoke. She burst through the edge of the cloud, instantly seeing that sprawled, still, blue and gold figure that haunted her nightmares.  
"Heroes never die!" she cried, half command, half plea. Golden light flew from her into Pharah, seeping through all the cracks and seams of her armor, but though her icon came alive, even though it burned a steady green in her vision, Pharah herself did not move.

She fell to her knees by Pharah's side, broken pavement grinding roughly against her legs. The falcon helmet was torn open and twisted, and Mercy gingerly put a hand on each side, carefully pulling it off and setting it aside. The healing had done its work; despite the blood splashed across her face and soaking through her hair, Pharah's face was undamaged. She could almost be asleep.  
"Pharah?" Mercy pressed her fingers to Pharah's neck, feeling that steady, strong pulse thrum. "Pharah!" No response. Mercy sagged, bracing her hands on Pharah's breastplate, trying to breathe through the panic threatening to settle into her chest. If only she would open her eyes! If only she would pull Mercy into an embrace like most mornings, murmuring sleepily into her ear while Mercy laughed and insisted that no, really, she had to get up now.  
"Reinhardt, I need you for transport." Her own voice sounded very far away. "She's not waking up."

"I am holding the point," Reinhardt answered, hesitation thick in his voice. That looming panic wrapped its fingers around her throat, choking off any reply. How could she insist? What would the others say if she sacrificed the mission for Pharah?

She shook herself, anger burning through the fog. Pharah was more important than the mission. Any of the agents, her teammates, were. She cleared her throat.  
"Ah, go get 'em," Torbjörn said gruffly before she could say anything. "My baby and I can take them out before you get back. Just let them try me."  
"Ha! I will not let you have all the fun, my diminutive friend. I will be back before your machine even spots them."  
As the pair continued to bicker over the radio, Mercy leaned forward and brushed her fingers over Pharah's cheek. "Hold on," she whispered. "We're getting you home."

 

2.  
"You don't have to wait for me, you know."

Angela didn't move, still leaning against the hangar door, eyes fixed on Fareeha's face. The soldier gestured to the Raptora suit that she still wore, only having removed her helmet since they returned from the latest mission.

"This takes a while."

"I'll wait anyway," Angela finally responded. "Last time you promised you'd come straight to the medbay, and yet I had to track you down the next morning"  
Fareeha glanced away, unable to meet Angela's steady gaze. "Winston wanted to talk."  
"Winston won't argue with me."  
Fareeha sighed, but it wasn't a sound of frustration or resignation. Angela couldn't place the tone. "Does anyone?"  
Was she teasing? Angela's lips curled into a smile. "Not by choice," she said, and was rewarded with a soft laugh.

Her smile lingering, Fareeha slid her fingers under the shoulder plates of her suit; with a loud click the armor released and she guided the piece down and pulled it off completely.

Some sort of track system? Angela mused, suddenly curious. She was always looking for ways to improve her own Valkyrie suit, and the Raptora suit had to absorb all the forces of the jets. Probably too bulky for her own purposes - Angela preferred speed and agility on a battlefield - but something to keep in mind nonetheless. She watched carefully as Fareeha expertly moved through the rest of her armor, laying it out almost reverently piece by piece. When she was finally standing in the flight suit she wore underneath, the soldier turned to Angela and gave her a quick salute.  
"Now I am at your disposal, Doctor," she said.  
"Excellent. Let's see if you take as good care of yourself as you do that suit."

\---

The familiar hum of the machines steadied Angela; she closed her eyes, listening to the rhythmic beeps she's heard so much in her life that they're as welcome as old friends. Without looking, it could be any one of the hundreds of patients she's treated in the medical wing's bed.

But it wasn't. She opened her eyes, squinting as bright blue metal reflected the harsh lights of the med bay. Angela had insisted that Reinhardt bring Fareeha in still in her armor, wanting to remove the suit in a controlled and sterile environment. Even if the Raptora suit was designed not to crush or impale its pilot, Angela was taking no chances.

She'd already removed some of it, finding the hidden latches and connections, sliding off the right shoulder plate, undoing the vambrace and taking special care with the delicate articulations of the glove. That had allowed her to hook up the few machines that Overwatch still had, so she could know instantly if something changed without the clutter of her Valkyrie overlay.

"Still not awake?" Lena's voice from the doorway was unusually subdued as she glanced at the still figure on the bed.  
"No," Angela answered, her tone lowered as if noise would wake Fareeha. Though her tone was even, she took a deep breath before continuing. "She got hit hard, both by the rocket and the impact, and her brain hemorrhaged. I stopped the bleeding and fixed the damage, but the brain is still a tricky thing. It's up to her now."  
Having walked into the room as Angela spoke, Lena laid a hand reassuringly on her arm. "Then she'll definitely wake up soon, luv, nothing to worry about."  
Angela smiled at her old friend. "Thank you."  
"There you go!" Lena squeezed her arm briefly before letting go. "Your face is the first thing she's gonna want to see, so keep smiling." She gestured toward the pieces of the Raptora suit laid out on one of the spare beds. "Do you need some help figuring that out? I'm pretty handy, y'know!"  
"I know," Angela said, "but I'll be fine. I know how it works." She ran her fingers over the interlocked plates of the gauntlet, wiping through the concrete dust that covered them. "And I'd rather do it by myself."

She thought she saw worry in Lena's eyes, but her friend quickly grinned at her and winked. "Don't want me peeking at your girl. I get it. Just call me if you change your mind!" And just like that she was away, a fading blue light the only indication that she'd been there at all.

Shaking her head, Angela returned to Fareeha's side, running her fingers along the seams until she found the latch points for the breastplate. Slowly, she undid them one at a time, keeping an eye on the machines for any deviation. But the beeps remained sure and constant, even as she lifted the battered and dirty plate away from Fareeha's chest and set it on the bed next to the rest.

And so, with Fareeha's steady heartbeat as her sole companion, Angela unlatched the next piece of armor.

 

3.  
"Did you see the look on Jesse's face?"

Angela smiled, feeling almost guilty about how funny McCree's obvious distress had been. "Yes, but I wouldn't have wanted to be in his position either. Imagine if we had to share this room with Zarya and Hana?"  
Fareeha paused, glancing around the small bedroom they were in. "Good point."

They'd arrived at the watch point only an hour ago. They'd known that it had fallen into disrepair, but hadn't realized that most of the roof had caved in or sprung leaks. Only two bedrooms were useable, and it was much too late and out of the way to try and find other accommodations. It had been Reinhardt and Jack who insisted that the two women on the team got to have one room to themselves. Lucio had only shrugged, and McCree, well... hadn't seemed too fond of the idea.

Biting her lip, Angela looked over at where Fareeha stood with her back to her. She certainly hadn't, wouldn't have, objected to sharing, but anticipation churned in her stomach and quickened her breath. She and Fareeha had been flirting heavily the past few weeks, stealing kisses and moments alone when they could in the past few days. It hadn't been much. Certainly nothing like this. Angela sat on the middle of the bed, the nightgown she'd already changed into feeling much shorter than usual. Even if all they did was sleep, the feeling of Fareeha's skin against hers was going to make for a very long night.

She'd been daydreaming, and so Fareeha's movement caught her off guard, focusing on her companion as Fareeha pulled her shirt off in one smooth motion, exposing the muscles of her shoulders and back without hesitation. She felt herself flush as she noticed Fareeha casually glancing over her shoulder, the hint of a wicked smile on her face.  
"Of course," the soldier drawled, "if I'd known a few holes in the ceiling would get a beautiful woman into my bed, I'd have sabotaged several of the bases by now."  
"Oh?" Angela replied, feeling a smile pull at her lips. She loved seeing Fareeha in this mood, not least because she was the only one who got to see it. "And whose room would you have targeted?"  
"Mine, of course. It would be impolite to damage someone else's belongings." Fareeha shrugged, showing off several of those muscles Angela had been admiring, before reaching behind her and unhooking her bra, letting the straps slide down her arms and the whole thing fall to the floor.  
Heat crept up her face, anticipation at a fever pitch, but Angela tipped her head to one side as if she was only interested in the conversation. "Or maybe you're worried that your target wouldn't come knocking at your door?"  
Fareeha chuckled as she pulled on an old t shirt, letting Angela breathe a little easier. "I'm not the one with the reputation for sleeping in my office."  
Pleasure swept through her, making her duck her head and smile. She loved how Fareeha could turn things around on her without being explicit. After all, there was only one person with that reputation. "I would prefer your room to my office."  
"Such high praise," Fareeha murmured, undoing the button of her jeans. The sound of the zipper being pulled down made Angela shiver.  
"It does have a bed," she pointed out teasingly, not wanting to make it too easy on Fareeha.  
"Just that?" Hands pushed the denim down, a little more slowly than necessary, Angela thought, though she drank in every inch of skin as it was revealed.  
"And some pleasant company."  
Fareeha threw her hands up in mock defeat as she stepped out of the last of the jeans. "I suppose I can be satisfied with that."

"Can you?" The words escaped her before she could think about them, and Fareeha half turned toward her, eyes dark, lips slightly parted. The anticipation that had been hounding Angela roared and changed into a heat that pulled at her stomach and inflamed her skin. She slid across the bed, standing next to Fareeha and ignoring the discarded clothes around them. She leaned upwards, her breasts just brushing Fareeha's, trailing her fingers across the woman's cheek. "Are you satisfied?" she asked, smiling at the flash in Fareeha's eyes and the way her hands gripped her hips.  
"No," she said, a rasp to her voice. "But-" She paused, and Angela felt her chest expand and fall as she took one deep breath. "I don't have this much self control," she said, painfully honest, thumbs tracing Angela's hips.  
Angela laughed softly, smiling up at the wonderful, thoughtful woman in front of her. "Neither do I," she confessed, draping her arms around Fareeha's neck and kissing her.

It apparently took a second for the sense of her words to hit Fareeha, and then the soldier was kissing her hungrily, one callused hand sliding down to the back of her bare thigh, pulling Angela closer. As Fareeha pressed one long leg between Angela's, the doctor moaned softly into her mouth, then pulled back, slightly embarrassed and totally sure.  
"I hope you locked the door," she murmured.  
Fareeha laughed.

\---

She re-entered the room, dropping a bundle of clothes on the spare bed and a kiss on Reinhardt's cheek. "Any change?" It was a courtesy question; if anything had happened he would've come for her.  
"No," Reinhardt said, rising from the armchair he'd claimed as his watch post. "But they say that no news is good news."  
"It means she's healing." For Angela, it could mean many things, but she knew from long experience that Reinhardt rarely accepted any explanation other than the most optimistic.  
He snorted. "She's sleeping, something she doesn't do enough." He softened then, leaning down and gently putting one hand on her shoulder. "Something you do not do enough either. Can I convince you to sleep in your own bed tonight?"  
She patted his hand, smiling at him. "No, you can't. I don't need much sleep anyway."  
"Ah, Schatzi, we are not as young as we were. Take care of yourself as well as us, ja?" He straightened, letting his hand fall away.  
"I will. Thank you for watching her," Angela said.

He just held up a hand in farewell, and she closed and locked the door behind him. Jack had come by and forced her to shower and eat "real food" as he put it, but it had given her an idea and a chance to pick up some extra things from her room.

"Sorry," she said softly to Fareeha, "but I know you have others." She took a pair of hand shears from her equipment, and began cutting open one sleeve of Fareeha's flight suit. It was torn and blood stained anyway; that counted as ruined in her book. She cut the suit into pieces, limiting the amount of times she had to lift Fareeha to pull the fabric out from under her. She always carefully cradled her head and neck when doing so, trying to be as gentle with her as possible. And then it was time for the clothes that she had brought: some boxers and yet another old shirt that Fareeha slept in. These she redressed Fareeha in, taking even more care with the shirt.

When she was finished it only made Fareeha look even more as if she was merely sleeping. Angela allowed herself a moment of temptation, wanting to climb up into the bed with Fareeha. But that wouldn't be the most comfortable, much less the most professional, thing to do, and she was worried about accidentally pulling out the IV. Instead she reopened the door for any more visitors who wanted to drop by unannounced, pulled up Reinhardt's armchair, and settled in with a book.

She woke in a haze and with a crick in her back, finding herself hunched over in the chair, her head pillowed on her arms which were folded on Fareeha's bed. Trying to orient herself, she lifted her head, blinking. And then she heard it: the slight change in the rhythm of the machines. She looked over to find Fareeha's fingers lightly covering her own.

She shot to her feet. "Fareeha?"  
The woman on the bed stirred, eyes opening, squinting in the bright light. "How long?"  
"Just about a day," Angela answered, giddy with relief. She took Fareeha's hand and squeezed it, taking heart in the pressure she felt returned. "How are you feeling?"  
Fareeha hummed, closing her eyes again as if taking stock internally. She gently pulled Angela's hand, and the doctor needed no further encouragement to lean in closer to hear whatever she had to say.  
"Angela?"  
"Yes?"  
"Did you get the plate of the truck that hit me?"

Long seconds ticked away and Fareeha opened one eye to peer up at her. "What, no laugh?"  
Angela fought a smile, her heart soaring. "I'm deciding between kissing you and smacking you."  
"Do I get a vote?"  
"No." It was getting harder to hide her laughter.  
"Damn."

A few minutes later, she was interrupted by a voice at the door. "Well," Jesse said, "why don't I get to wake up in the med bay like that?" He grinned at Fareeha and jerked a thumb in Angela's direction. "She's all polite and professional, asking me how I'm doin' and if I remember what day it is. You she kisses."  
"She smacked me first," Fareeeha complained, and Jesse looked between them.  
"Never mind," he said. "I'll be fine if we stick to my way."  
"Coward," Fareeha accused, and Angela couldn't hold it in any longer, the laughter bubbling up from inside her. She leaned against the bed, the back of one hand pressed against her lips, her shoulders shaking. Fareeha's hand gripped her free one, interlacing their fingers. She could see even Jesse smiling from the doorway.  
"I'll give you two five minutes, then I'm telling everyone she's awake." He tapped his watch twice. "Five minutes, then the hordes descend."  
"Thanks," Fareeha called after him as Angela brought herself back under control. Fareeha slowly propped herself up on the bed, wincing slightly at the movement, then pulled Angela up onto the bed and into a loose embrace. "And thanks for putting me in a shirt and not one of those awful gowns."  
"You're welcome," Angela replied, leaning into the embrace as much as she dared.  
"Now how about taking it off me?"  
Angela turned, seeing the light in Fareeha's eyes. She knew she wasn't being truly serious, just trying to put Angela at ease about her condition. It was her way of apologizing for making Angela worry, when Angela would never accept an outright apology. She leaned forward, kissing Fareeha's forehead. "Hordes, remember?"  
"Damn. Later then?"

She couldn't resist that smile. "Later," she promised.

 

4.  
She looked up from her seat on the couch when the door closed, smiling as Fareeha stopped and stared. That was always a good sign. An even better one was when Fareeha glanced up and started speaking, Arabic rolling off her tongue, fluid and beautiful.

Angela leaned forward, crooking a finger, and Fareeha came with alacrity, putting her hands on the back of the couch and leaning down to kiss Angela. "You are stunning and I am blessed," she said when the kiss ended.  
Angela laughed. "So you like it?" She gestured to the button down shirt that she was wearing - one of Fareeha's, and long enough to just pass the tops of her thighs. It was all she was wearing as she'd waited in her quarters for Fareeha's arrival.  
"Yes," was Fareeha's only reply as she kneeled on the couch, her knees on either side of Angela's thighs. She kissed her again, nipping at her bottom lip before she pulled away, hands at the bottom of her own shirt, pulling it off with such reckless haste that she got trapped for a second, Angela smothering giggles as she helped guide Fareeha out.  
The soldier growled and tossed the offending garment away, and Angela soothed her with a kiss, running her fingers along Fareeha's shoulder blades.  
"You don't have to rush," she said. "I'm not going anywhere."  
"Not dressed like that you're not," Fareeha replied, pressing her body forward into Angela's, and that was the end of the conversation.

\---

"Let me take care of you," Angela said as the door closed behind them and Fareeha sat on the edge of the bed - her real, actual bed in her own quarters.  
Fareeha smiled at her. "I'm fine, really. And I think you'd be sick of doing that by now."

Angela followed her over, leaning down to kiss her slowly, one hand tracing its way down her chest, lingering over her breast. She smiled at Fareeha's sudden sharp inhale, but didn't let her go until her hand found the bottom of her shirt and slipped underneath, running delicately over the muscles of her stomach.  
"Oh. That kind of care," Fareeha breathed, leaning back on her hands, looking up at Angela with dark eyes. At Angela's nod, she smiled languidly. "Maybe I should check with my doctor, see if I'm cleared for strenuous activity."  
"The doctor will get strenuous," Angela said. "You will lie back and enjoy yourself. Now. I seem to remember a promise about a shirt."

Fareeha straightened, the wordlessly raised her arms above her head, arching an eyebrow at Angela as if daring her to make good. Which she quickly did, pulling the shirt up and off, dropping it to one side. Fareeha ran a hand through her hair, but otherwise stayed silent and still, only her eyes fixed on Angela's giving away anything.

Angela, for her part, was content to spend a moment just looking. She knew the scars, knew the muscles, knew all the little spots that made Fareeha shiver, but she could never get tired of any of it. She loved all of it. And she loved her eyes right now, with their mix of lust and affection and trust. It was one of the things that made them work so well: as often as Fareeha took charge, this strong, powerful, fierce woman was just as pleased and confident stepping back and letting Angela lead whenever she wanted.  
She knew what others often thought, seeing the more butch soldier and the more feminine doctor together. She wondered if they'd be surprised at what happened behind closed doors.

"That smile does not promise relaxing," Fareeha said quietly, a smile of her own tugging at her lips. "Not that I'm complaining."  
"Hush," Angela said, reaching down again and ridding Fareeha of her sports bra in the same fashion. This time she didn't pause, moving forward, pushing Fareeha down onto her back. She trailed kisses along her neck and shoulder, hands cupping her breasts. Fareeha sighed in pleasure beneath her, fingers playing with the short hairs on the back on Angela's neck.  
And as much as she liked that feeling, liked that sound, Angela was impatient. Her head moved lower, pressing a kiss to each breast as she passed, tracing the lines of Fareeha's abs with her tongue. She slipped her fingertips into Fareeha's boxers and underwear both, waiting for Fareeha to lift her hips in invitation before pulling them down her legs and off, banishing them to the floor.  
Angela moved farther down, kissing one thigh and nipping the inside of the other, making Fareeha twitch in surprise.  
"Fuck," she whispered, the word pulled from her throat and making Angela's heart race.  
"Say that again," Angela urged, running a finger through Fareeha's tight curls, her teeth brushing the skin of her thigh but not pressing down. For that she waited until she heard Fareeha inhale right before she spoke.  
"F-"  
Then she bit.  
 _“Fuck.”_ The word exploded from Fareeha's lips, her back arching briefly before she settled back into the bed. "Damn it, Angela. Fuck me."

She needed no further prompting.


End file.
